


Opposites

by ShadowHaloedAngel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Black Bow Tie, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:13:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowHaloedAngel/pseuds/ShadowHaloedAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When everything normal about you has been burned away, when you are broken beyond repair, the rules don't apply anymore. A relationship which is so similar on the surface is rarely so simple beneath, and yet... it works in a way nothing else ever could, and it is what they need to keep them sane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opposites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flightinflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/gifts).



Theirs was a relationship of opposites. It seemed strange to think that a relationship containing three people could have so many differences between them, when opposites were supposed to be only between two things. But then, they had never really conformed to the dictats of normality.

On the surface, of course, there was a lot in common between them - the three were spies, they worked for the same organisation, each had their own uniform, and knew how to kill you in more ways than you could possibly conceive of with an innocent looking item of stationery. Most people wouldn't think to look deeper, to begin differentiating at this most fundamental level of the supposed similarities between them.

Yes, they all worked for SHIELD, but Natasha and Clint were both assets. Assassins. Field agents. Coulson was their handler. That did not, of course, make him any less of a threat, it only meant that he worked differently to them. Originally his skill set had been very similar to theirs, but it had quickly been noted that he had a knack for reading things, both situations, and people, and commanding the small teams he was often working with competently and effectively. What was perhaps more important was the fact that they obeyed him, because they could tell that he knew what he was doing.

He had been promoted to senior field agent then, and officially put in charge. The paperwork increased with that level, but that hadn't fazed him at all - he didn't like it really, but he could understand its value, its use, and so he carefully, conscientiously completed all of the mission reports, and analysed his team. He had proved himself so comprehensively and so often that he had been promoted still further. No one was quite sure exactly what Coulson's rank or role was now, but he, and he alone had been placed in charge of the two best field agents the organisation had ever seen. It was an honour, to be sure, but a double edged sword - Barton and Romanoff were famed for their disregard for regulation, paperwork, and occasionally, sanity. They performed better under Coulson than they ever had under anyone else, and so the official line was very much that that working relationship was not to be threatened under any circumstances. They needed Barton and Romanoff, and that meant they needed Coulson, regardless of the man's own (albeit extremely high) intrinsic value. 

Coulson could keep track of and process many factors and agents at once - while Hawkeye often had a literal bird's eye view of the situation, it was Coulson who truly kept track of the actual state of affairs rather than simply what it appeared to be. Natasha and Clint both preferred to be on the front line, in the very thick of the action, with a simple checklist of tasks which applied only to them, and which they had the freedom to complete as they saw fit.

 

They all had different backgrounds - Natasha and Clint both had horrors in their pasts it was almost impossible to conceive of, whereas Coulson had known what was in actuality a relatively normal childhood. Even within that similarity, though, Natasha and Clint were both opposites. Neither had chosen what had happened to them, but Natasha's training had been institutionalised, systematic, controlling, with the aim of producing a weapon. Clint's had been to produce a performer, and those habits, much as he hated to admit it, had proved hard to break. 

They had different ways of coping when missions went wrong. Natasha trained her anger out, spending hours in the gym, with sparring partners (willing or unwilling) and punching bags, training herself to be better next time, faster. It didn't matter whether the mission had gone wrong because of something she had done, or something out of her control; whether it was something that could be solved by increased reflexes and more strength and control or not, that was her solution. 

Clint would withdraw into himself, would turn to pain as a way out, until Coulson had learned how to read those cues and how to give him what he needed so that it was an almost positive thing - or at least, a healtheir way of coping. He blamed himself, always, and did not do well with it. He would wait for the punishment to fall down on him, certain it was his fault, that he had failed, that he was no longer good enough for the standards he had to meet in order to be allowed to remain. And when he was the best, he felt he had let Coulson and Natasha down and he couldn't cope with the thought that he had disappointed them. 

Where Natasha took it out on others, and Clint took it out on himself, Coulson would drive them both to medical for as long as they could stand it, and then treat them himself when they finally snapped, or drove the medical personnel to tears. He would fill in the paperwork, and take it with a calm equanimity that no one else could understand. What they failed to take into account was that, whether or not the mission failed according to its own specific criteria, so long as he had both his Agents back in one piece, Coulson counted it as a success, and simply resolved that the next one would be better. 

Their attitudes within their relationship varied, too. Clint needed the support, desperately, needed an environment in which he would not be judged, even when he had got things wrong. Where he would be loved unconditionally. He found the sex reassuring, anchoring, telling him that he was forgiven, and appreciated, loved even when he hated himself. Coulson knew how to handle that, to make sure that he was anchored again. He loved Coulson, and Natasha both, even though he knew one day that love would break him. He needed it, and they were, as strange as it sounded, given their life expectancy, the chance that one day they would have to kill each other, or simply not come home, safe people to love, because they understood him like nobody else would ever be able to. 

Natasha didn't do love, she was always very emphatic about that. Love was for children, it was a weakness, a luxury she could neither feel nor afford, not in a romantic sense, not even, really, in a familial sense. Her relationships were calculated on the basis of debts and loyalty... and she would never allow herself to consider that she might love them. They were useful to her, they were trustworthy, and they loved her. 

She didn't do love, but sex was a different matter. Sex was a weapon, something she could use to intoxicate, to distract, to weaken, to extract information... except, with these two, it was more - to them, at least, and she was happy to oblige. She had chosen them. It was the one and only time in her life that sharing her body with someone, anyone, had been something she had chosen to do from free will not obligation, and that meant that they would always be special. Besides that they were always careful to make her feel good. 

Coulson loved them both. They were... some of the most incredible people he had ever met, hardly deserved, really, to be compared to the rest of the mediocre human race, when in truth they were more like weapons, or animals - graceful, deadly cats, perhaps, hunters who were elegant in everything they did, and beautiful with it. He loved the chance to be with them, to make them feel good, and hell, it wasn't like it didn't make him feel good too, but for him, it was the closest he would ever get to the truth of them that they held buried beneath so many layers of their pasts. 

He would have liked to cuddle a lot more than he got the chance to, but Clint rejected all physical affection bar sex when he needed it the most, though at other times he was irritatingly cuddly, and Natasha did physical contact for the sake of others, not herself. It was the opposite of everything he had learned about dealing with people, because, of course, they were not normal people, and so the sex was his best way of getting through to either of them. 

They all spent a fair amount of time dressed up, for various missions usually, but their attitudes to the 'uniforms' varied hugely. Coulson practically lived in suits anyway, and so hardly noticed. It simply felt like a second skin, and, other than the shirt, of course, it didn't show the blood. That made life a lot easier, and allowed him to blend easily with the rest of society. 

Natasha didn't think twice about dressing up, and sometimes, even enjoyed it, the chance to best sheathe what was her most effective weapon, how to distract the mark, to leave them wanting her so desperately they would be easy to manipulate, just as they always were. For her, it was part of the job, akin to putting on any uniform, and it was a chance to show off. She always quite enjoyed those. 

Clint hated suits with a passion. They made him feel out of place, wrong, left him scared, wrong footed, but he could hide it well, and with Natasha on his arm, nobody could tell the difference, bar Coulson. On several occasions, though, it had taken both of them to get him dressed for a mission, and he was already artfully dishevelled by the time he reached the door out from the apartment. Coulson had been prepared to swear his heart had stopped when he saw that, because in all honesty, there was something about Barton that made him infuriatingly breathtaking. 

For all their differences, though, whatever this strange... almost relationship between them was, it worked. It got them through, helped them heal, and gave them strength, and somewhere to retreat to when they couldn't be strong anymore. It might not have been normal, but for them, it was right, and woe betide anyone who tried to challenge it, to take it from them. They were so far beyond normal that the rules no longer applied, but this.... this was right, and this, in a world where nothing was constant, and they lived on borrowed time, however briefly, this was theirs.

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so, I was aiming to do an advent calendar of fics this year, but I took the weekend off at the beginning of the month to recover from NaNoWriMo, and the emotional crisis I had at the end of November, so now I'm playing catch up. I hope to get caught up in the next few days.
> 
> I decided to combine the advent calendar idea with the fact that I owe the very lovely and incredibly patient flightinflame about a million fics. Or, you know, at least 21, which would be a belated birthday present. So consider this those fics with interest. All will be dedicated to her, and I'll try to incorporate the prompts she gave me back in May, although I'm still aiming for a Christmas theme. Most are OC and so can't be found here, but fanfic is crossposted here from deviantart.


End file.
